Guardian Angel. Leanne Banks
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before he died? The homey green sofa and slightly lumpy chairs? Did he recognize Kevin from the picture on the wall? Could he possibly know the porcelain bunny collection on the second shelf of the bookcase was one of her weaknesses? And why did she feel he’d gained too much knowledge of her just from his perusal of the room?
His gaze slid from the bunnies to her eyes, and she wondered, inanely, if he could read her mind. Then he was studying the little mole above the right corner of her mouth. She had to purse her lips to resist the urge to run her tongue over the mark.
Flustered by his quiet, invasive attention, she forced her eyes away from him.
When Trace finally spoke, he offered his opinions and suggestions with utter politeness. “Since you have a dual goal of raising both awareness and funds, it sounds as if you’ve got a good start. I’d like some posters for the mill, Lou, if you could manage that.” Lou nodded, and Trace continued without missing a beat. “The mill could sponsor an event. Perhaps a bowling tournament or a night at the roller-skating rink. And I think you could increase your donations significantly if you generated some interest from the country club.”
They all stared at him. That last suggestion had the impact of a small bomb, because none was a member of the country club.
The silence was unnerving. Knowing she would have squirmed under such intense scrutiny, Talia gave him points for sitting in her lumpy chair with a confident, expectant expression on his face.
Opal Taylor cleared her throat. Darryl Harris pushed his glasses back on his nose. Lou Adkins studied his fingernails. The only sound in the room was the ticking of her mother’s anniversary clock.
Talia sighed. Since she would receive no help from her fellow committee members, she’d better go ahead and respond. “I think your suggestions are very helpful. Getting the mill involved would increase awareness among the part of the population who need the information.”
She paused and chose her next words carefully.
“As far as the country club is concerned, you already have connections with the members there. It seems logical that you would be the one to represent our committee.” There, she thought. That hadn’t been so bad.
Trace hooked an ankle over the opposite knee and smiled. “I’ll be glad to represent the committee.” He pulled an appointment book from his suit coat, which he’d hung over the side of the chair. “However, since I’ve only just become involved in this project, I’d like another committee member to come along with me. Talia, are you available Saturday night? We could meet a few of the club’s charter members for dinner.”
“Not in a million years,” she said under her breath.
He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Talia couldn’t bear that penetrating gaze one more minute. She felt as if he’d been studying her the entire evening. If that wasn’t galling enough, she’d had a hard time tearing her own attention away from him!
She stood and collected the coffee cups and dessert plates. “Actually, I was wondering if one of the other members would be interested in helping you out. I’m pretty busy. What do you think, Opal?” She sent her late mother’s best friend her most persuasive look. “You’d probably enjoy an evening out.”
Opal gave a self-conscious little giggle. “I don’t have anything appropriate to wear for a night out at the country club, Talia dear. Besides,” she continued coyly, “Mr. Barringer is such a young, attractive man. He needs a young, attractive escort.”
Talia barely stifled her groan. Trace had won Opal over, but Talia hadn’t lost yet. “Well, what about you, Darryl? Perhaps you could bring your wife with you.”
Darryl again nervously arranged his glasses on his thin nose. “Nancy and I have a standing date for dinner at her mother’s house on Saturday nights.” His voice held a note of apology. ‘“They’re both pretty insistent about it.”
“Oh, but for just one night—” Talia broke off when she saw Darryl’s strained expression. She was beginning to feel desperate.
With her brightest smile, she turned to her last, most futile hope, and tried to ignore the amused light in Trace’s eyes. “Lou, I’ll bet you haven’t—”
“I’ve got poker Saturday night,” he said bluntly.
If she didn’t get out of that room, Talia knew she was going to scream. She picked up the tray of cups and saucers and carried it into the kitchen. Once there, she resisted the urge to test the dish manufacturer’s warranty against breakage by flinging a few pieces against the wall.
Instead, she took a deep breath and counted to ten.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched back into the living room where the group waited expectantly. Just as she opened her mouth to refuse, Trace said, “Talia, we can set this up for another time if Saturday night is inconvenient.”
He sounded so reasonable. “Of course,” he continued in a bland tone, “it would be a shame to give up all those potential donations.”
With that, he nailed her coffin shut. If Talia turned down this opportunity, she’d be doing a disservice to the agency that had appointed her, the people who were depending on her and, in a way, to her mother’s memory. She forced the words from her mouth. “What time shall I meet you?”
Wearing an indiscernible expression, Trace stood and pulled on his suit coat. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll pick you up.”
“No, thank you.”
He stopped in the midst of straightening his tie and studied her. “I insist.”
“No.” She abandoned any attempt at tact. He wanted to bulldoze her. She could see it in his eyes. But he was too clever to push her any further tonight.
“Six o’clock in the lounge,” he said, and walked to the front door.
Within three minutes they were all gone. Sensing her mood, the other committee members patted her shoulder on their way out. Opal touched Talia’s cheek and murmured, “You go on and have a good time.” Too weary to take Opal to task, Talia merely thanked the older woman for coming.
When her home was quiet and empty again, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes. Even though Trace was gone, the air still hummed with tension. She could smell his woodsy aftershave, see his wicked smile.
Moaning at her predicament, she thought of her brother. He would die if he knew she was going out with Trace Barringer, even for charity’s sake. She could imagine the betrayal he would feel.
They both bore a grudge against the Barringers, and her Sicilian blood ran hot when she remembered what they’d done to her only brother. She unapologetically, unequivocally detested them.
If one good thing had come out of the evening, it was that she would never again have to restrain herself from pulling off Trace’s glasses to determine his eye color. She’d waited fourteen years to find out, and he had stood close enough for her to see that they were a penetrating green.
After a restless night, Talia was woken by the insistent ringing of her phone. She rolled over and blindly reached toward the noise coming from her nightstand.
“Hello,” she murmured in a sleep-husky voice.
“Talia, this is Trace Barringer. Did I wake you?”
“Oh, no,” she said automatically, and wondered if everyone lied about being asleep when the phone rang.
“Right,” he said. His low chuckle brought her nerve endings pleasantly to life. “I wouldn’t have called this early, but I think I left my wallet at your house.”
Talia’s eyes flew open.
“Would you mind,” he went on, “if I pick it up on my way into the office? I can be at your front door in about twenty minutes.”
Her mind was still stuck on the